


Show You Where It's Dark

by BeautyInChains



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Control, Dirty Talk, Facials, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 15:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12535436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInChains/pseuds/BeautyInChains
Summary: Holden's late night musings take an unexpected turn. He's never been good at keeping his mouth shut.





	Show You Where It's Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love instantly with Holden and Bill and the dynamic between the two of them. I HAD to write, and I definitely have a few more ideas bouncing around. Title borrowed from Kavinsky's Nightcall. 
> 
> As always: unbeta'd, comments and concrit most welcome.
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

It's late.

Holden blinks up at the aged ceiling of their motel room, cracked and stained with years of cigarette smoke and water damage. Bill's soft snore, constant and sure, mingles with the distant sound of highway traffic. Holden's gaze drifts down the peeling wallpaper, past the chipped headboard of Bill's bed to his chest, watches the steady rise and fall.

Holden smiles softly to himself as he takes in the way Bill's threadbare undershirt twists askew to reveal a fine dusting of grey chest hair, the way Bill has one arm curled almost protectively against his chest while the other rests up and over his head, haphazard. It's disarming and comforting and Holden feels...

He's not sure what he feels. Curious? He knows it's more than that. This job, this project has put some distance between him and Debbie. He misses her, he thinks. But not as much as he should. It's hard to miss her when he's with Bill. Bill, who is as constant and sure as his snore. Bill, who is strong and hard and soft and infuriating and and wonderful. And here. He's still here after everything Holden has put him through. Holden bites his lip.

He thinks about the way Bill knows how he takes his coffee. About how he'll wake up after a night of hitting the bottle a little too hard to a bedside table with a glass of water and bottle of painkillers. About how Bill knows what kinds of magazines Holden likes to read on long flights and how they'll magically appear in his carry-on. About how Bill will force a grimace with smiling eyes when Holden jolts awake off his shoulder, puddle of drool soaked into the fabric of his shirt.

Holden thinks about the way Bill's leg feels pressed against his when they sit side by side - in restaurants booths, during interviews, in bed huddled over fistfuls of crime scene photographs. In bed.

Holden wonders what Bill is like in bed. He bets Debbie would have something to say about that. But it doesn't matter right now, because she's not here. And so he lets himself think about it. About Bill's rough, callused fingers. His strong arms. His gruff voice. The furrow of his brow. His hard body. The precarious part of his lips around a lit cigarette.

Holden rolls over onto his front, presses his hips down into the mattress. He knows he shouldn't, but it's been too long. A soft moan rushes past his lips as he rubs his hard cock against the sheets. He thinks about the way Bill smells. Like coffee and cigarettes, cheap aftershave and cologne. Holden bites down on his pillow as he slips a hand beneath himself, curls it around his cock, squeezing and stroking. He's so wet already, leaking, and it makes him even harder.

Holden can hear the telltale squeak of the mattress, too loud; knows that he should slow down, stop. He's so close. He squints through the darkness. There's sweat on Bill's brow. His nipples are hard, peaked beneath the fabric of his undershirt. Holden comes with a muffled whimper, body seizing as he spurts into his fist, everything hotter and wetter and so fucking good he could cry. So fucking good that he doesn't notice that the rise and fall of Bill's chest has picked up, his snoring has tapered off and been replaced by heavy, ragged breaths.

"Jesus Christ," Bill's voice rumbles into the night.

Holden stills. Hot come drips down his fingers, wets his belly. There's a creak, a rustle. Bill has turned on to his side. He's breathing hard and fast. Is he angry? Upset? Aroused? Holden can feel Bill's eyes on him.

"Holden," It's not a question and nothing follows. Just his name. Holden whines.

"Fuck, Holden. You just had to go there, didn't you?"

Holden slips his hand out from under himself, hauls himself up until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and grimaces as he wipes his come onto the sheets. He hears Bill hiss, wonders if Bill can smell him.

"Debbie?" he asks. Holden breathes in sharply through his nose.

"No."

His answer is met by what feels like an eternity of silence. When Bill speaks again, it's cautiously, "Kemper?"

The laugh that chokes it's way out of Holden borders on hysterical, "God, _really_?"

"Holden," his name again. This time it's a warning.

"You're smarter than this," Holden says. He's feeling loose now and dangerous, almost drunk. Deviant. He lets his eyes find Bill's. "Are you hard?"

"Holden, don't do this," Bill runs a hand over his face, tugs at his hair.

"I want to. I want to so bad, Bill. I think you do, too,"

"What I want..." Bill trails off, shakes his head.

"I thought about you,"

"Goddamnit, Holden!"

"I came so fucking hard," Holden murmurs, licks his lips before continuing, "When did you wake up? When did you realize what I was doing?"

Bill's on his feet, in Holden's space before Holden can so much as blink. Holden's legs part on instinct, filthy and exposed. Bill stares at the come drying on Holden's belly, at Holden's cock still sticky and full. Holden swallows hard, stands slowly, shudders at the feel of Bill's chest brushing against his own. Bill's hot breath ghosts against Holden's cheek. Holden sighs as Bill's hands find his hips.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Bill says and then Bill's lips are on his. Holden moans desperately into his mouth. It's nothing like kissing Debbie. Bill's fingers dig into his skin hard enough to leave bruises, his tongue dominates Holden's mouth. Bill's cock is pressed against Holden's hip and Holden can feel his own start to swell despite his recent release. Bill bites Holden's bottom lip, soothes it over with his tongue and it's fucking electric. Bill's teeth find Holden's earlobe next and Holden yelps.

"You thought about me. Is this what you thought about?"

"God," Holden moans helplessly as Bill nips his way down his throat. He takes Holden's hand, cups it over his cock. Bill's cock is huge; long and so thick.

"Hmm? Couldn't shut you up a minute ago,"

"Bill-"

"Get on your knees, Holden." Holden's knees hit the carpet before he can stop himself.

"Jesus Christ," Bill growls, "Eager. Fucking. Deviant." There it is again. That word. Bill's hand finds it's way into Holden's hair, stroking and tugging. Holden is so hard now his cock arcs up from between his legs. He reaches out for Bill with trembling fingers, whimpers again when Bill jerks his head back by his hair.

"Uh uh, you don't get to touch. You've done enough of that for one night."

Holden lets his hands drop down onto his thighs, digs his nails into the pale skin there.

"Did you want me to hear you, Holden? Weren't exactly quiet about it, were you? Moaning like a bitch in heat," Whatever blood hasn't found its way to Holden's cock floods his cheeks. Bill's free hand slips beneath his boxers, pulls his cock out and it looks even more intimidating than it had a moment ago.

"Fuck, Bill," Holden can almost taste him.

Bill holds Holden's head in place, far enough away that he's helpless to watch as Bill starts stroking himself. Saliva pools on Holden's tongue, threatens to spill he wants it so fucking bad. Bill releases his cock long enough to place his hand in front of Holden's face, "Spit."

Holden doesn't spit so much as let the drool drip out of his mouth and into Bill's palm. Bill grunts, "Such a slut."

Holden watches transfixed as Bill begins jerking his cock again, harder and faster, accompanied this time by the wet slap of saliva slicking the way. Holden's breathing hard, chest heaving. He focuses on the ache of his scalp as the thin skin strains against Bill's grip, on the cut of his own nails digging little crescent moons into his flesh, on Bill's trembling thighs. Bill's getting close.

"Bill,"

"You never know when to shut your mouth, do you?"

"Please."

"Fuck, fuck," and then Bill it's spurting all over Holden's face, ribbons of come catching on his eyelashes, cheekbones, lips. Holden moans, euphoric over the way that Bill has marked him. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tastes Bill on his tongue, feels another weak spurt hit his chin. "God, you're a fucking mess," Bill whispers reverently.

Bill lets his hand drop from Holden's hair and he almost whines with the relief. He can hear the soft shuffle of fabric and then Bill is gingerly wiping the come from his eyes with what Holden can only assume is his undershirt. He opens his eyes slowly, lashes tacky, blinks up at Bill. The motel carpet is itchy and his knees hurt. Bill cups Holden's jaw, urging him upward. Holden's cock is still hard and it sways as he stands. Bill presses a slow kiss to the corner of Holden's mouth, his cheek, his temple; soothes a thumb over his lips before giving him a firm slap.

Bill takes a step back, tilts his head toward the bathroom, "Clean yourself up, Holden," he says gruffly.

But there's a smile in his eyes that cuts through the black of the room.

Holden does as he's told.


End file.
